"Good! Come and show me how."
So the Beaver dances to the music, slapping the back of his flat right hand, up and under his left hand for a tail, holding up a stick in both paws to gnaw it, and lumbering along in time to the music, at the same time imitating the Beaver's waddle.
Nana-bo-jou shouts: "Fine! That is the best Beaver Dance I ever saw. You are wonderful; all you need to be perfect is wings. Wouldn't you like to have wings so you could fly over the tree-tops, like the Eagle?"
"Yes," says the Beaver.
"I can make strong medicine and give you wings, if all the animals will help me," says Nana-bo-jou. "Will you?"
"Yes," they all cry.
"Then all close your eyes tight and cover them with your paws. Don't look until I tell you. Beaver, close your eyes and dance very fast and I will make magic to give you wings."
All close and cover their eyes. Nana-bo-jou sings very loudly and, rushing on the Beaver, hits him on the head with the straw club. The Beaver falls dead. The two goblins run in from one side and drag off the body.
Then Nana-bo-jou shouts: "Look, look, now! See how he flies away! See, there goes the Beaver over the tree-tops." All look as he points and seem to see the Beaver going.
Different animals and birds are brought out to dance their dances and are killed as before. Then the Crow comes out, hopping, flopping, cawing. Nana-bo-jou looks at him and says: "You are too thin. You are no good. You don't need any more wings," and so sends him to sit down.
Then the Coyote comes out to do the Coyote Dance, imitating Coyote, etc.; but he is very suspicious and, in answer to the questions, says: "No; I don't want wings. The Great Spirit gave me good legs, so I am satisfied"; then goes back to his seat.
Next the Deer, the Sheep, etc., come out and are killed; while all the rest are persuaded that the victims flew away. But the Coyote and the Loon have their doubts. They danced in their turns, but said they didn't want any change. They are satisfied as the Great Spirit made them. They are slow about hiding their eyes. At last, they peek and realize that it is all a trap and the Loon shouts: "Nana-bo-jou is killing us! It is all a trick! Fly for your lives!"
As they all run away, Nana-bo-jou pursues the Loon, hitting him behind with the club, which is the reason that the Loon has no tail and has been lame behind ever since.
The Loon shouts the Loon battle-cry, a high-pitched quavering LUL-L-L-O-O-O and faces Nana-bo-jou; the animals rally around the Loon and the Coyote to attack the magician. All point their fingers at him shouting "Wakan Seecha" (or Black Magic). He falls dead in the circle. They bury him with branches, leaves, or a blanket, and all the animals do their dances around him.
Before beginning, the story of the dance should be told to the audience.
TALE 97
The Caribou Dance
Horns for the Caribou Dance
The easiest of our campfire dances to learn, and the best for quick presentation, is the Caribou Dance. It has been put on for public performance after twenty minutes' rehearsing, with those who never saw it before, because it is all controlled and called off by the Chief. It does equally well for indoor gymnasium or for campfire in the woods.
In the way of fixings for this, you need only four pairs of horns and four cheap bows. Real deer horns may be used, but they are scarce and heavy. It is better to go out where you can get a few crooked limbs of oak, cedar, hickory or apple tree; and cut eight pairs, as near like those in the cut as possible, each about two feet long and one inch thick at the butt. Peel these, for they should be white; round off all sharp points of the branches, then lash them in pairs, as shown. A pair, of course, is needed for each Caribou. These are held in the hand and above the head, or in the hand resting on the head.
The four Caribou look best in white. Three or four hunters are needed. They should have bows, but no arrows. The Chief should have a drum and be able to sing the Muje Mukesin, or other Indian dance tune. One or two persons who can howl like Wolves should be sent off to one side, and another that can yell like a Lynx or a Panther on the other side, well away from the ring. Otherwise the Chief or leader can do the imitations. Now we are ready for
THE DANCE OF THE WHITE CARIBOU
The Chief begins by giving three thumps on his drum to call attention; then says in a loud, singing voice: "The Caribou have not come on our hunting grounds for three snows. We need meat. Thus only can we bring them back, by the big medicine of the Caribou Dance, by the power of the White Caribou."
He rolls his drum, then in turn faces each of the winds, beckoning, remonstrating, and calling them by name; Kitchi-nodin (West); Keeway-din (North); Wabani-nodin (East); Shawani-nodin (South). Calling last to the quarter whence the Caribou are to come, finishing the call with a long KO-KEE-NA. Then as he thumps a slow single beat the four Caribou come in in single file, at a stately pace timed to the drum. Their heads are high, and they hold the horns on their heads, with one hand, as they proudly march around. The Chief shouts: "The Caribou, The Caribou!" After going round once in a sun circle (same way as the sun), they go each to a corner. The Chief says: "They honour the symbol of the Great Spirit." The drum stops; all four march to the fire. They bow to it together, heads low, and utter a long bellow.
Then the Chief shouts: "They honour the four Winds, the Messengers."
Then the Caribou back up four paces each, turn suddenly and make a short bow, with a short bellow, then turn and again face the fire.
The Chief shouts: "Now they live their wild free lives on the plain." He begins any good dance song and beats double time. The Caribou dance around once in a circle.
The Chief shouts: "Full of life they fight among themselves."
The first and second Caribou, and third and fourth, close in combat. They lower their heads, lock horns held safely away from the head, snort, kick up the dust, and dance around each other two or three times.
The music begins again, and they cease fighting and dance in a circle once more.
The music stops. The Chief shouts: "They fight again." Now the first and fourth and second and third lock horns and fight.
After a round or so the music begins again and they cease fighting and again circle, dancing as before.
The Chief calls out: "The Wolves are on their track."
Now the howling of Wolves is heard in the distance, from the fellows already posted.
The Caribou rush toward that side and face it in a row, threatening, with horns low, as they snort, stamp, and kick up the dust.
The Wolf-howling ceases. The Caribou are victorious. The Chief shouts: "They have driven off the Wolves." They turn away and circle once to the music, holding their heads high.
Now Panther-yelling (or other menacing sound) is heard in the other direction. The Chief shouts: "But now the Panthers have found them out."
Again the Caribou line up and show fight. When it ceases, the Chief cries out: "They have driven off the Panther." Now they dance proudly around, heads up, chests out as they step, for they have conquered every foe.
Then the Chief calls out: "But another, a deadlier enemy comes. The hunters are on their trail." The hunters appear, crawling very low and carrying bows. They go half around the ring, each telling those behind by signs, "Here they are; we have found them," "Four big fellows," "Come on," etc. When they come opposite the Caribou, the first hunter lets off a short "yelp." The Caribou spring to the opposite side of the ring, and then line up to defy this new noise; but do not understand it, so gaze as they prance about in fear. The hunters draw their bows together, and make as though each lets fly an arrow. The first Caribou drops, the others turn in fear and run around about half of the ring, heads low, and not dancing; then they dash for the timber. The hunters run forward with yells. The leader holds up the horns. All dance and yell around the fallen Caribou and then drag it off the scene.
The Chief then says: "Behold, it never fails; the Caribou dance brings the Caribou. It is great medicine. Now there is meat in the lodge and the children cry no
longer."
TALE 98
The Council Robe
The Woodcraft Council Robe is something which every one may have, and should make for himself. It may be of any shade, of gray, buff, orange, or scarlet. The best ones are of a bright buff. In size they are about five feet by six feet, and the stuff may be wool, cotton, silk, or a mixture. My own is of soft or blanket cotton.
The Council Robe
The robe is used as a wall banner, a personal robe, or a bed spread, and has for the first purpose two or more tag-loops sewn on the top. For the second, it has a head-hole or poncho-hole, an upright slit near one end (hh), and for the last, there are one or two buttons or tie-strings to close the poncho-hole. These are the useful features of the robe.
The ornamental features are the records on it. While these vary with each owner, the following usually appear: The Fourfold fire, near the middle; the Woodcraft shield, the owner's totem, the symbols of each coup and each degree won by the owner.
To this many add a pictographic record of great events or of camps they have visited.
The easiest way to make the robe is to use paints on the cotton fabric.
The favourite way and more beautiful way, is to use appliqués of coloured cloths for the design.
The most beautiful is to embroider in silk or mercerized cotton. But the last is very slow, and calls for much labour as well as some money.
On the preceding page are shown four different styles of robe; you may choose or adapt which you please, except that only a Sagamore may use the one with the 24 feathers in the centre.
THINGS TO REMEMBER
TALE 99
How the Wren Became King of the Birds
The story is very old, and it may not be true, but this is how they tell it in many countries.
The animals had chosen the lion for their King because his looks and his powers seemed to fit him best of all for the place. So the birds made up their minds that they also would have a royal leader.
After a long council it was decided that, in spite of strong opposition from the Ostrich and his followers, the one with the greatest powers of flight should be King. And away all flew to see which could go the highest.
One by one they came down tired out, till only two were to be seen in the air: the Eagle and the Turkey-buzzard still going up. At last they got so high that the Turkey-buzzard froze his ears off for they were naked. Then he gave it up. The Eagle went still higher to show how strong he was, then sailed downward to claim the royal honours.
But just as they were about to give him the crown, the Wren hopped off the top of the Eagle's head, where he had been hiding in the long feathers, and squeaked out, "No matter how high he was, I was a little bit higher, so I am King."
"You," said the Eagle; "Why I carried you up."
"Nothing to do with it," said the Wren.
"Then let's try it over," said the Eagle.
"No, no," said the Wren, "one try was agreed on, and it's settled now, I was higher than you."
And they have been disputing over it ever since. The lawyers take the Wren's side and the soldiers take the Eagle's side.
The peasants in Europe sometimes speak of the Eagle as "the King of the Birds," but they always call the Wren the "Little King." And that is why we call our gold-crowned Wrens, Kinglets, or Kingwrens and I suppose that is why they wear a crown of gold.
TALE 100
The Snowstorm
It was at the great winter Carnival of Montreal not long ago. Looking out of a window on a stormy day were five children of different races: an Eskimo, a Dane, a Russian, an Indian, and a Yankee. The managers of the Carnival had brought the first four with their parents; but the Yankee was the son of a rich visitor.
"Look," cried the little Eskimo from Alaska, as he pointed to the driving snow. "Look at the ivory chips falling! El Sol is surely carving a big Walrus tusk into a fine dagger for himself. See how he whittles, and sends the white dust flying."
Of course he didn't say "El Sol," but used the Eskimo name for him.
Then the Dane said: "No, that isn't what makes it. That is Mother Earth getting ready for sleep. Those are the goose feathers of her feather bed, shaken up by her servants before she lies down and is covered with her white mantle."
The little Indian, with his eyes fixed on the storm, shook his head gravely and said: "My father taught me that these are the ashes from Nana-bo-jou's pipe; he has finished his smoke and is wrapping his blanket about him to rest. And my father always spake true."
"Nay, you are all wrong," said the little Russian. "My grandmother told me that it is Mother Carey. She is out riding in her strongest, freshest steed, the White Wind. He has not been out all summer; he is full of strength and fury; he spumes and rages. The air is filled with the foam from his bridle, and froth from his shoulders, as she rides him, and spurs him, and rides him. I love to see it, and know that she is filling the air with strength and with messages. They carry me back to my own dear homeland. It thrills me with joy to see the whiteness."
But the Yankee boy said: "Why, it's just snowing."
TALE 101
The Fairy Lamps
There was once a little barelegged, brown-limbed boy who spent all his time in the woods. He loved the woods and all that was in them. He used to look, not at the flowers, but deep down into them, and not at the singing bird, but into its eyes, to its little heart; and so he got an insight better than most others, and he quite gave up collecting birds' eggs.
But the woods were full of mysteries. He used to hear little bursts of song, and when he came to the place he could find no bird there. Noises and movements would just escape him. In the woods he saw strange tracks, and one day, at length, he saw a wonderful bird making these very tracks. He had never seen the bird before, and would have thought it a great rarity had he not seen its tracks everywhere. So he learned that the woods were full of beautiful creatures that were skillful and quick to avoid him.
One day, as he passed by a spot for the hundredth time, he found a bird's nest. It must have been there for long, and yet he had not seen it; and so he learned how blind he was, and he exclaimed: "Oh, if only I could see, then I might understand these things! If only I knew! If I could see but for once, how many there are, and how near! If only every bird would wear over its nest this evening a little lamp to show me!"
The sun was down now; but all at once there was a soft light on the path, and in the middle of it the brown boy saw a Little Brown Lady in a long robe, and in her hand a rod.
She smiled pleasantly and said: "Little boy, I am the Fairy of this Woods. I have been watching you for long. I like you. You seem to be different from other boys. Your request shall be granted."
Then she faded away. But at once the whole landscape twinkled over with wonderful little lamps—long lamps, short lamps, red, blue, and green, high and low, doubles, singles, and groups; wherever he looked were lamps—twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, here and everywhere, until the forest shone like the starry sky. He ran to the nearest, yes, a nest; and here and there, each different kind of lamp stood for another kind of nest. A beautiful purple blaze in a low tangle caught his eye. He ran to it, and found a nest he had never seen before. It was full of purple eggs, and there was the rare bird he had seen but once. It was chanting the weird song he had often heard, but never traced. But the eggs were the marvelous things. His old egg-collecting instinct broke out. He reached forth to clutch the wonderful prize, and—in an instant all the lights went out. There was nothing but the black woods about him. Then on the pathway shone again the soft light. It grew brighter, till in the middle of it he saw the Little Brown Lady—the Fairy of the Woods. But she was not smiling now. Her face was stern and sad, as she said: "I fear I set you over-high. I thought you better than the rest. Keep this in mind:
"Who reverence not the
lamp of life can never
see its light."
Then she faded from his view, and he never saw the lamps again.
TALE 102
The Sweetest Sad Song in the Woods
Once a great American poet was asked which he thought was the sweetest voice in the woods. He said: "The sweetest sound in Nature is the calling of the Screech Owl."
Sometimes, though rarely, it does screech, but the sound it most often makes is the soft mournful song that it sings in the woods at night, especially in the autumn nights.
It seems to be moaning a lament for the falling leaves, a sad good-bye to the dear dying summer.
Last autumn one sat above my head in the dark October woods, and put his little soul into a song that seemed to be
Ohhhh! Ohhhh!
The leaves are falling:
Ohhhh! Ohhhh!
A sad voice calling;
Ohhhh! Ohhhh!
The Woodbirds flying;
Ohhhh! Ohhhh!
Sweet summer's dying,
Dying, Dying.
A mist came into my eyes as I listened, and yet I thanked him. "Dear voice in the trees, you have said the things I felt, and could not say; but voicing my sadness you have given it wings to fly away."
TALE 103
Springtime, or the Wedding of Maka Ina and El Sol
Oh, that was a stirring, glowing time! All the air, and the underwood seemed throbbed with pleasant murmuring voices. The streams were laughing, the deep pools smiling, as pussy-willows scattered catkins on them from above. The oak trees and the birches put on little glad-hangers, like pennants on a gala ship. The pine trees set up their green candles, one on every big tip-twig. The dandelions made haste to glint the early fields with gold. The song toads and the peepers sang in volleys; the blackbirds wheeled their myriad cohorts in the air, a guard of honour in review. The woodwale drummed. The redbud draped its naked limbs in early festal bloom; and Rumour the pretty liar smiled and spread the news.
Woodland Tales Page 13
